


Buy Into Their Misery

by sticks_and_scars



Category: Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 15:43:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18101522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sticks_and_scars/pseuds/sticks_and_scars
Summary: Thrawn discovers someone very close to Arihnda has been lying to her for years about something massive. Arihnda needs to lose herself for a few hours before confronting reality. Thrawn has to stop her from making an irrational choice in public  but she eventually picks it back up in private, after a fair amount of angry grieving.[deleted scene from forthcoming fic inspired by Thryce tropes challenge]





	Buy Into Their Misery

**Author's Note:**

> Arihnda is a super stuffy corporate lawyer but never quite grew out of her club kid phase so she still goes to the occasional rave/party to balance out the dryness of her daily life.
> 
> About the only chunk I actually wrote for my _second_ attempt at the tropes challenge. I’m going to write the full fic but this part might not fit into the new direction so I figured I’d share!

The building appeared much larger than this claustrophobic room from the outside but Thrawn and Arihnda find themselves among only a handful of people waiting in the quiet space. She feels very, very out of place and on the verge of deflating.

“I can call Eli and check…”

“No, it’s fine. Can you get me a drink, please?”

He walks over to the small bar, giving her a moment to breath and figure out how she’s going to save this night before she falls apart.

“First time?” The voice comes from her left - the speaker is all neon pink and plastic and sparkles.

“Yeah, I thought there was a party.” Arihnda has a difficult time keeping the disappointment from her tone.

“Oh, there is, just be patient - only a little bit longer.” The speaker is in a cinched neon PVC dress with a short beard packed with glitter that remarkably does not rain down with each movement of their mouth. A sly grin cracks the sparkling facial hair as Thrawn returns with her drink, which she drains immediately. He quirks an eyebrow but she ignores any judgment coming from the look.

“Just wait a few more minutes. You may want to hang out by that door over there, though.” They lift a candy covered arm towards a steel door looking like justification for a tetanus shot. 

“Trust me! My name is Jezebel, by the way.” They take Arihnda’s hand and perform a dramatically deep curtsy. 

Thrawn sneaks away to get her another drink and presses a kiss to the side of her head upon his return, “slow down, just a little.”

Lips stretching into a thin line, she brings up the cup and drinks steadily while making unwavering eye contact. She does only drink half, though.

He huffs a single dry laugh, “close enough.”

Before any other debate can take place, the steel door slides back and Jezebel squeals in delight, grabs Arihnda’s free hand, and skips, literally skips, down the hallway.

It is a long and meandering sort of thing on a steady decline. Every time there is a turn, the temperature drops a degree or two more. Clearly they are moving deep underground.

“I believe this is how horror movies start,” Thrawn says over the growing din of excited conversation echoing off the brick walls.

Arihnda thinks meeting her end tonight might not be the worst thing. 

But as soon as that line of thinking creeps into her mind, Jezebel lets go of her hand and sprints into a large room, easily 10 times the size of what she now considers to be the “waiting room”. Black speakers are stacked in two columns on either side of the stage, barely visible through the dense fog emphasizing the rapidly shifting beams of light. Arihnda sees tables and makeshift booths scattered around the perimeter. Best of all: the music is painfully loud.

\--

“Better?” Thrawn asks, speaking over her shoulder directly into her ear.

She spins on him faster than either of them expected and crushes her lips against his in elation. The kiss is urgent and excited, and admittedly, a little sad. 

He moves them farther towards a booth once he notices they are impeding the flow of people into the room. 

Returning to speak into her ear he says, “go dance, I’ll grab a drink and be over here for a little bit.”

She frowns, something dangerously close to a pout. Thrawn thinks those drinks must have been rather strong for such a ridiculous reaction. He stifles a laugh as she asks in complete seriousness, “you don’t want to dance?”

He runs a thumb over her lip, smoothing out the frown, “I will in a moment. I need to ‘get on your level’, I believe is the expression.”

Capturing another kiss, she smiles, then turns towards the rapidly filling dance floor and gets lost in the music.

==-==

It’s not complex or particularly physical dancing: it’s wiggling around, occasionally stomping her feet if the beat is heavy enough. But it’s done with confidence, no regard for what anyone thinks about her, which makes it beautiful in its rarity - Arihnda is always so guarded, and rightfully so. Watching her body slithering gracefully, lines always flowing in curves, hips swaying freely, arms weaving all sorts of patterns - this, he thinks with a chuckle, watching this is his new favorite hobby.

He agreed that they needed one night after dropping such earth-shattering information on her, one night before they throw themselves entirely into a plan to dismantle the man who had lied to Arihnda so thoroughly, maintaining an illusion of benevolence that only served to humanize a monster in the public’s opinion.

Not wanting to waste his night with such unpleasantries, he shakes off the daze and scans the room for Arihnda, having lost sight of her for some time.

To his surprise, she’s stalking her over to him, glistening in the lights from a coating of sweat.

Without pausing or stopping, she crawls onto his lap, nearly knocking over the table in the process. He manages to steady it with his hand then shove the base back a few inches with his foot.

She is straddling his hips now, knees holding her weight, and he places her hands on her waist enjoying the thrum of her heart beating heavily under his fingers pressed into her skin. The pulse making his own race.

Rolling her hips to the rhythm, his pulse then shifts lower. 

Saying nothing, and making no move to do anything else, he realizes he needs to let her have the lead. So, against every nerve screaming in his body to do something, anything, to release this building energy, he merely holds her gaze. 

Her lips are moving, singing along to the music, lost in their own little bubble. Her hands then push against his chest, arching her spine back as she shakes out her hair. Of course this pushes her hips forward, dragging against the bulge in his pants.

After that tentative brush against him, Arihnda sits back up, then widens her legs and grinds against him in earnest, while curling her spine the other direction, bringing her mouth to his neck and nipping along the column of his throat.

Her hands, meanwhile, have worked their way down to his belt and are clumsily attempting to undo the buckle. Again, rebelling against every nerve in his body painfully shouting to him that he has a biological obligation to let her continue, he holds her hips in place, her warm core, barely concealed by thin fabric that can hardly be considered an undergarment at all, is held against him but at least no longer providing delicious friction. 

Now she is pouting in full force. “Please?” 

Speaking through the dryness in his throat is painful for a moment, but he manages, “here?”

“Yes.” She responds simply, forcefully. The pain she is hiding is suffocating, and he almost gives in, wanting to make her forget as effectively as dancing did just a few minutes ago.

Instead, Thrawn shakes his head and presses his forehead against hers, “We can’t, Arihnda. What if someone sees? It’s one thing to be out partying but sex in public is a felony.”

She lifts her head from his then drops it back down in a half-hearted head-butt.

“Did...you just head-butt me?”

She laughs but continues to brood.

“What are you going to do about it? Hm?” Arihnda thinks she’s being seductive, issuing such a challenge. Under normal circumstances it would be effective. Thrawn adores the times she let her playful side take over. The sex is always extreme and makes him very grateful for his dedication to cardio workouts.

“Oh no, not this time. Come, let’s go back to your apartment,” she shakes her head fervently, “my house, then”, a slow nod.

After a bit more cajoling, he gets her out the door and into the car. The drive back to into the city is long and she falls asleep after just a few minutes. Good, he thinks, she needs the rest. 

Pulling into his garage, and thanking Eli for ensuring he was able to rent a house instead of anything shared, he rouses her from her sleep but not before noticing the wetness around her eyes. He wipes away some of the mascara streaking down her cheek.

“Arihnda, we’re here. Can you walk?”

Sleepily she opens her eyes, blinks a few times, and seeming to recognize that she had been crying, snaps at him. Arihnda steadily extricates herself from the seat belt rather gracefully given her footwear and previous level of intoxication.

They walk through the door in silence. She immediately goes into his bathroom, shuts the door, and runs a shower. 

Sighing, he grabs a water bottle for her, sets it on what has become her side of the bed, and pulls on a soft pair of sleep pants, not wanting to be presumptuous given her latest reaction. 

Some time later Thrawn wakes to her crawling under the covers; he had fallen asleep on top of the blanket. Without so much as a “goodnight” she turns off the light and curls up facing away from him. 

He gets under the blanket and softly says “wake me if you need anything” into the darkness. There is no response.

Hours or minutes later, unsure as there isn’t a glowing clock in the room, Thrawn feels the bed shaking, very gently. Then Arihnda’s suppressed sobs turn into an attempt to calm herself which only results in silent hyperventilating. 

“Arihnda?”

No answer.

“Are you…” he is going to ask if she’s ok but it’s quite obvious that she is not, “can I get you anything?”

No answer.

Unsure how to proceed, he decides on the non-verbal route and curves his body against hers, tucking his arm under his head as to not disturb her too much.

She shoves at him with a shoulder in a weak attempt to get him to move back but it’s perfunctory. There’s no force behind the gesture.

Pushing up onto an elbow so he can see her face in the dim glow provided by the full moon through sheer curtains, Thrawn reaches down to move her hair out of her face. 

No reaction. She continues her silent grieving as if he’s not there. 

He stays above her for a few moments, merely watching her fight against the pain threatening to swallow her whole. It’s too much - Thrawn moves to lower his head down but kisses her bare shoulder first.

That, at least, causes a reaction. 

It’s not graceful or smooth or even sexy. It’s clumsy and results in an elbow against his sternum at least twice but Arihnda manages to pin him again for the second time tonight.

They are searching each others faces intently for anything, something, to say or do to diffuse the tension. 

“Pants, off, now,” she finally says as she sits up onto her knees, giving him space to pull the waistband down. She reaches behind to push them down further, and he kicks them off. That movement, too, is not smooth but it’s done.

“Arih…”

“Don’t...shh…” She cuts him off. He is only half hard; her sudden shift from sobbing to demanding not giving him much time to catch up. Apparently Arihnda is not concerned as she sits on his thighs and gently wraps a hand around his cock, pumping and twisting her wrist with the right amount of pressure. He bites his lip to keep from rolling his head back, not wanting to take his eyes off of her, or gasping, not wanting to ruin her concentration. Thrawn he does manage to blindly reach a hand into his nightstand and retrieve a condom.

Once he is suitably hard, he passes her the condom which she deftly slides over his now eager cock, then unceremoniously slides forward and presses her opening over the tip. She has to rock back and forth a few times for sufficient lubrication but once she is engulfing him fully he finds she is plenty wet. The warmth of her cunt causes him to shiver, the unexpected sensation a shock to his system. 

Bracing one arm above his shoulder, the other controls his head by harshly gripping his hair, rolling it back to expose his throat. She again nips at the tender flesh, occasionally dragging her teeth along stretches, causing him to involuntarily jolt in surprise. 

All the while she is fucking him, moving with reckless abandon - slamming her hips down, crashing pelvic bones together, he wonders which of them will end up bruised. 

When her mouth reaches his clavicle, she bites down, hard, and he breathes quickly through his nose to keep from reacting out of instinct. 

Arihnda lifts her head to gauge his reaction, smirks, and goes back to using her teeth and tongue across his chest. It’s beginning to hurt, and Thrawn isn’t sure where to draw the line. If this is helping her work through her grief, he doesn’t want to impede. But if she’s just hurting him as a distraction, then he might need to stop her for his own sake. The distinction between the two is blurry at best. 

Another involuntary decision is made when she bites a few inches up from a nipple then rolls the tight flesh back and forth between her front teeth. He lets out a growl and flips them over, somehow she is still latched onto him like a piranha - and she’s smiling.

He doesn’t speak but picks up her punishing pace, bordering, Thrawn realizes, on violent while balanced above her on one hand, the other reaching between them to rub her clit - a position they’ve assumed so many times that it’s second nature. He has learned her body well and knows how to draw out her orgasm, to build the right amount of tension before helping her over the edge.

She finally lets go of his chest, and he thinks he might see a small amount of blood on her teeth; it’s hard to tell in the low light. But what he can absolutely see are the tears forming in her eyes, even as she arches off the bed, moaning in pleasure.

He slows his pace, unsure how to proceed. She hooks her hands into his lower back and pulls him into her again, he pushes out, she pulls again, wordlessly they set a much more gentle pace.

Pushing against his hip with the palm of her hand, and hooking a leg up and over, Arihnda rolls him onto their sides, not breaking the connection between cock and cunt.

She continues to set the tempo though much less forcefully, with long slow thrusts that feel like absolute heaven. Her little breathy sounds are harder to discern with every passing moment - he can’t tell if they are sobs or gasps of pleasure, made even more ambiguous as her eyes are clenched shut with tears leaking through dark lashes. He brings up his free hand, not the one previously working her clit, as it’s now trapped under her ribs, painfully but manageable, and ghosts a thumb against her cheek.

“We don’t have to do this.”

Arihnda’s light sapphire eyes peel open, and the vulnerability he sees brands his soul, irrevocably binding him to her. Thrawn moves to pull out again but she croaks, “Please, don’t. I’d like...can we finish?” The last is a whisper but it’s all the encouragement he needs to wrap her in his arms and shift them into a sitting position. There isn’t a feather’s thickness of space between their bodies as she coils her legs around his hips and continues to languidly create gentle waves lapping against him.

But this time she is kissing him fiercely. It’s the saddest thing Thrawn has ever endured, and he would do it every night if it meant she might be ok in the morning. She tastes like the sea and her face is soaked but he has never been closer to her, more connected to another person, ever in his life. 

Arihnda sits back and holds his face her hands, eyes darting back and forth, then makes up her mind about something when a devilish grin burns through the despair. 

She pushes Thrawn flat, hands against his chest to support her weight, and once more finds a manic pace. 

In this moment she is channeling every vengeance goddess known to humanity - punishing Thrawn's body for the sins every man has ever committed. Using him to right the wrongs, even if the balance can only be sustained for a few minutes.

Soon after Arihnda screams, digging her nails into his already tender chest, anchoring herself as she finds a release that would be terrifying in another other context. She has become feral in her ecstacy, wails dropping into a growl as she rides out her orgasm, fiendishly rocking her hips to ring every drop of pleasure from her body. Thrawn finds his orgasm as well, the feeling of her shamelessly using his cock to draw out her satisfaction challenges his endurance, and wins.

Moments pass and they disentangle. Thrawn throws the condom into the small waste bin as she cleans up in the bathroom. When Arihnda returns, she holds him from behind, acting as the big spoon. He tries to think of something to say but nothing sounds right. She must notice his concentration or finds her own words because she eventually breaks the silence.

“Thank you, I really needed to clear my head,” her arms tighten around his ribs as he rubs the hands splayed flat against his chest and stomach, gripping like he’s a life preserver preventing her from drowning. 

He doesn’t respond - still unsure of what to say.

“I’m going to sleep. And in the morning we’re going to figure out how to completely ruin his life.” Her tone is not bitter, not angry. It’s conversational and flat. That’s almost more troubling.

She repeats his shoulder kiss from earlier then settles in, and they both return to sleep.


End file.
